Shamichoro
by Wai-Jing Waraugh
Summary: Strange signs prompt Abe no Seimei to embark on a pilgrimage to Mount Hiei, with Hiromasa tagging along for company. En route, they are obliged to take shelter at an estate which is already playing host to a mysterious medicine seller. With not one, but two exorcists present, surely no mononoke would dare to appear...? Mystery-supernatural-action, some moderate violence.
1. Prologue

_Hi there, Mononoke fans! You may have followed me across from my current Mononoke fic-in-progress, 'Jubokko'. If you have, don't despair, I will finish that story; I cannot promise soon - by now, you know that my updates tend to be sporadic at best - but eventually, I will. Promise. In the meantime, I had the idea for this story, so please let it tide you over for a while._

_And to Onmyoji fans, hello, nice to meet you. I've never written an Onmyoji fic before, but I watched the films recently (I saw some scans of the manga too, though I couldn't read the Japanese), and I had the idea to cross it over with my favourite anime. It seemed like the perfect match; both works feature yokai, exorcisms, and enigmatic leading-men. __I'm not sure which fandom will dominate - I think Onmyoji might lead a little, but I have a soft spot for the medicine seller, so it should even out 50-50._

_Same rule applies as with Jubokko - if you look up the title of the story, you will know what the mononoke is and spoil the surprise. Google at your own risk!_

_I'll leave this little prologue here. I have the next chapter almost ready to go, so if you like this beginning, express your interest in a review - I always like to get feedback - and I'll try to post it up soon._

_Enjoy!_

_~ W.J._

* * *

**Shamichoro**

**Prologue**

_'Wind-tossed pine needles_  
_sing their soft, whispery song_  
_of evergreen youth'_

* * *

_Mountain air._

_Summer grass._

_Scent of sweet pine._

_Birdsong overhead._

_Warm earth._

_Dappled sunlight._

_Damp forest musk._

_Rustling in the undergrowth._

_The sound of walking… and the sound of running…_

The steady thump of geta upon the packed earth of a mountain trail.

A swish of bending foliage; straw sandals dashing nimbly over loose pine needles.

A dark streak upon the hillside; the tail of some animal, perhaps…

… no, the ponytail of a young boy, flowing like a streamer behind him as he flies down the hill.

Despite the assuredness of his tread, he does not look like a mere peasant urchin. His face is clean, his eyes are bright, and the generous sleeves of his child-sized _hitatare_ flutter at his sides like outstretched wings. With his short legs hidden by tall clumps of wildflowers, it seems as though his feet are barely touching the ground. He comes soaring down from the hill's summit; a little white sparrow amidst the verdant greenery.

"Sir!" he calls, his small, piping voice dwarfed by the enormity of the stillness that hangs over the distant mountain peak. "Sir, please wait!" he calls to the receding figure. He scrambles down the grassy slope, joining the ragged track which already contains one other traveller.

The figure who strides ahead, each step confident despite the tall _geta_ on his feet which should falter upon the uneven ground, comes to a standstill at the sound. He half-turns, watching the boy approach with amusement and interest dancing in his eyes. His eyes are a cool, clear shade of blue; yet there is something dazzling, almost fiery, about them. They glint in the sunlight, like two bits of warm summer sky.

The boy nears him; he checks his pace, continues his approach, though now he is a little wary. Still, his manner is polite, his voice sincere, and his gesture earnest, as he holds out a neatly-tied package, no bigger than his own small hand, towards the stranger.

"Sir, you dropped this…"

The traveller carries a heavy pack upon his back; this one small item was apparently dropped, unseen, behind him as he traversed the mountainside.

Bemused, perhaps touched by such honesty in one so young, the traveller smiles. The boy, surprised by this sudden change in the mask-like face, starts a little, but is heartened by the friendliness of the smile.

"You keep it, young master," the traveller says, in a low, mysterious voice; a voice which would well suit the soft wind that murmurs cryptically in the pine-branches above. "Hang onto it. It may become useful… sometime soon…"

"Doji!"

Another voice rings out, coming from above; against the serenity of the rural vista, it is as sudden and as harsh as a hawk's cry. The boy, his hand still holding the parcel outstretched, turns obediently at the summons.

Another adult now comes tearing down the slope in fitful bounds, moving with an urgency which the boy cannot fathom. He imposes himself between the traveller and the child. He holds his right hand before him like a guard, or perhaps like a weapon; two of his fingers are stretched upright and point towards his lips, as though to amplify some curse he is about to mutter in the traveller's direction. He regards the other with a hostile glare.

The traveller, for his part, takes no offence; he gives a low chuckle which sounds like the rasp of branches caught in a gale. Leaving only another canny smile in his wake as a parting gift, he turns and continues on his way, _geta_ resounding gently with each step.

The boy feels the tension dissipate from his companion; only then does he dare to speak.

"Tadayuki, what is wrong?"

"Doji," the other says, sternly, "you should not speak to such beings."

"Why?" the boy asks, chastened and confused. "What was wrong with him? He is just a travelling mer-"

"You are too young yet to see things for what they really are," his guardian interrupts; his voice is sharp, though he does not seem to be angry.

Only strained. Anxious. _Afraid._

"Doji," he says again, forcing his own jangling nerves to calm. The stranger is dwindling into the distance; by now, he is little more than a dark smudge against the brilliant glare of the summer sun. With each new step he puts between them, he poses less and less of a threat. With this worry taken care of, the man now realizes that he has only succeeded in scaring and bewildering the boy. He rests a hand on the boy's shoulder, gently but firmly, speaking directly down into the upturned face.

"Please, stay away from such people, Doji. They are not to be trusted. I am your teacher. Someday, you shall know all these things for yourself; for now, please trust my judgement. It will keep you safe. It may seem unfair to you now, but I know what I am dealing with, whereas currently you do not. Promise me that you will heed my words unquestioningly in future. Promise."

The boy regards him for a moment. A less-astute child than he may have laughed at the excessive gravity in his teacher's manner, which seems so comically disproportionate to the banality of the situation. However, he does not. Instead, he gives a slight, solemn nod. It is a staid, serious little gesture, better suited to a man well beyond his years.

However, he takes the tiny bundle, and quietly tucks it inside his robe, for safekeeping.

* * *

_Edit: Added the haiku at the beginning. All the haiku I will feature in this story are my own._

_Also, _hitatare_ is a type of costume - a wide-sleeved kimono, usually worn with hakama, sometimes also known as a 'hunting costume'. It was commonly worn during the Heian era; it began as working clothes for commoners, but was adopted as everyday-wear by the nobility because it was comfortable and easier to move in than elaborate court dress. And if you are Mononoke fans, I shouldn't have to explain to you what _geta_ are ; )_


	2. Chapter 1: Spilt Saké

**Chapter One – Spilt Saké **

**_'_**_Maple leaves falling  
__like sparks, from trees with their boughs  
__burning in the sun'__  
_

* * *

After a year's long absence, autumn had once again arrived in Heian-kyo.

From his vantage point upon the verandah, Lord Minamoto no Hiromasa, Provisional Master of the Palace of the Empress and renowned _gagaku_ musician, surveyed the courtyard beyond, admiring the mature trees that stretched flaming branches towards the house's eaves.

He thought that his friend's garden looked like the inside of a treasure trove, with its robust branches and delicate foliage all adorned in sheaths of russet and gold, colours flickering vibrantly in the morning light.

It was true, perhaps, that the garden's condition was a little too… _undisciplined_ to abide by some of the more constrained standards of good taste. Where Hiromasa saw an enchanting glade of ornamental forest, he knew others would see an under-maintenanced tangle of weeds and old wood. He considered this to be a great shame, for the garden impressed him with an unlikely sense of refinement; it lacked the ostentation and contriteness which so pervaded the fashionable styles, a fact which pleased him. This arrangement was natural and simple, yet it had depth; the irregular symmetry of its jutting shapes and its sudden swathes of petulant shade lent it a unique air of mystery.

It perfectly suited the inscrutable demeanour – and eccentric tastes – of his friend.

Hiromasa spent a few moments trying to capture the garden in a poem, seeking a way in which he might convey its charm to some of his more discerning acquaintances at court. He had reached the second line of his composition and was grappling with the syllables – too many in one turn of phrase, not enough in another – when he was interrupted by the sound of liquid sloshing against fine lacquer.

He thus abandoned such a futile occupation – poetry that manifested in the soul could take many forms, and music was the one which came most naturally to him – to instead recite a wordless hymn of appreciation against the edge of his cup.

Satisfied that his guest was well catered for, Abe no Seimei, Onmyodo Master of the Imperial Court and owner of the garden which Hiromasa had been admiring with such concentration, poured another cup of saké for himself.

He was halfway through the menial task of conveying it to his lips, when he stopped.

"Ah," he said.

This remark, slight though it was, was enough to raise Hiromasa's attention from the bottom of his own cup. He turned to his host, in time to see a thin rivulet trickling over the rim of the vessel in his outstretched hand. He was making no effort to right his cup, or otherwise prevent the alcohol from flowing away in a steady stream; he simply watched as it seeped into the tatami mat at his feet, rendering it wholly undrinkable.

"Seimei," Hiromasa said, in a gently teasing tone, "What a waste of good saké! Are you kindly obliging your thirsty floors, or does the cold make your fingers clumsy?"

Seimei grinned wryly; considering how often he played tricks on Hiromasa with his shikigami puppets, he had humour enough to accept this return jibe in good grace.

"It is not my hand that tipped the cup," he retorted. "It was the saké itself that leapt. See, it travels still."

He pointed to the damp tatami mat. Indeed, instead of pooling like a normal spill, the liquid was flowing out in a straight line, heading towards the edge of the verandah, though the deck beneath them was perfectly level. As Hiromasa looked on in amazement, its progression halted; then it split and turned back on itself, forming the shape of an arrow.

"Does all your alcohol behave in such a way?" Hiromasa asked, taking a nervous gulp of air. Having just downed his third draught, he didn't much fancy receiving an arrow- jab inside himself.

"I cannot speak for every vintage that I own," Seimei admitted good-naturedly, tapping the half-empty ceramic bottle from which he had just poured. "However, in this case, it is most curious." He surveyed the direction of the sigil, expertly aligning it, by eye, with the position of the sun.

"North-east," he declared, after a moment's consideration. "Why north-east? Perhaps it correlates with the star-charts I have just completed…"

Breaking the languid pose he had been affecting upon his cushion, he gracefully unfolded his limbs and, with a strident sense of purpose, strode deeper into his house. His divining equipment was kept in a small study which ran adjacent to the verandah; curious instruments were ranged here in neat rows, like an awaiting regiment. There was a tall pile of scrolls in one corner. He snatched up the topmost of these, and unrolled it upon the floor. He began to consult it with a steadfast concentration.

"Hiromasa," he said, without looking up, "if you are done with drink, the soiled matting should be dealt with. If you could…?"

"Ah, c-certainly." Hiromasa obediently set down his cup and shifted off the tatami.

No sooner had he done so, then the whole length of matting bundled itself, and everything set upon it – cups, bottle, plates, cushions and all – into a neat roll. It sat innocuously upon the deck, betraying no trace of the invisible hand that had moved it – nor so much as a chip of crockery.

Hiromasa started back a step.

"Seimei!" he exclaimed, staring at his clever friend, who all this time had not lifted his head, though he smirked privately at his outspread scroll. During their prolonged acquaintance, Hiromasa had become more accustomed to the ways of Seimei's household; still, he found it disconcerting to think that even something as innocuous as a tatami mat could be magicked…

"Here," Seimei was muttering contemplatively, half to himself, "I just mapped the north-eastern quadrant, along with the rest of the sky over Heian-kyo. The stars revealed little of interest for this impending month – a house fire here, the birth of a prince there, a dispute which will settle itself in a mildly irregular fashion – but nothing of real substance."

The chart that he bent over was filled with dots of ink – which Hiromasa took, logically, to be representations of various stars – that were connected by a series of disjointed lines, all painted in Seimei's precise brushstrokes. To Hiromasa, they looked like a mass of silkworms upon a mulberry leaf; but they seemed to be quite transparent to Seimei, though they apparently did not hold the information that he sought.

A shadow of a frown imprinted itself upon his forehead; his brow shifted almost imperceptibly, making his tall black hat tilt forward at a slightly more precarious angle.

"Perhaps it is in the triagrams-"

Impatiently tossing the scroll aside, he seized another and unfurled it. At its centre was a double-magatama, bordered by eight triagrams which Hiromasa vaguely recognized as _fusui_ symbols. Beyond this was a series of characters, including those for 'marsh', 'river', 'swamp', 'spring', 'noon' and 'fall' among many others, all arrayed in a neat octagonal grid. To Hiromasa, it looked like a nonsensical jumble of unrelated words, such as a child might make at writing practise; but to Seimei it must have been quite illuminating, for he was murmuring to himself as he scoured it, tracing various paths of _qi_ energy with his finger as he went. Then he sighed out vexedly between his teeth.

"No, nothing here either," he declared. "A disruption of _yang_ energy to the south, a gathering of strong _yin_ currents to the west;a taboo against travelling in a south-westerly direction – but nothing concerning the north-east. So why…?"

He discarded this chart as well, producing another which, to Hiromasa's relief, appeared to be purely geographical. The Imperial Palace abutted the northern limits of the city; to the east of this, a series of foothills led up towards Mount Hiei, like stepping-stones meant to lead the gods to the shrine near its summit.

"There are many temples to the north-east," Hiromasa suggested, though he had no inkling as to just what it was that Seimei was looking for. "And a few of the lesser nobility have their estates there."

Only lower-ranking nobles lived here, for the land to the north-east was considered less desirable. The hills made it difficult to build a level apartment there, at a scale which befitted the more illustrious members of the noblesse; so only small villas were to be found, their inhabitants having to make do with the meagre proportions that the sloping grounds could accommodate. Besides this, the area's proximity to various major temples made it an open thoroughfare through which a great deal of traffic passed, putting members of the privileged class uncomfortably close to the passing rabble.

Seimei didn't seem to be considering any of this as he peered down at the map spread before him. He stared fixedly at the north-easterly reaches of Heian-kyo, as though he were expecting some sign, an ink-blot or spectral emblem, to appear upon the paper at any moment…

_ching!_

"Hmmm…?"

Seimei's attuned senses detected a tiny noise; a sliver of sound, rather like the peal of a bell…

He glanced quickly across at his companion. Hiromasa, entertaining himself by gazing perplexedly at the _fusui_ chart, hadn't turned at the sound.

It appeared that Seimei alone had heard it; meaning that perhaps it had issued from some plane that lay beyond the tangible realm…

He gazed again at the map in front of him; this time, he spied something of interest.

A tiny hole, like a pin-prick, now pierced a spot on the map which a moment ago had been whole, unblemished paper. It was a tiny mark, denoting some location that lay among the hills, beyond the north-eastern bounds of the city…

"Ho," Seimei said in a low, confidential tone, speaking to something which was not literally present – yet perhaps still listening. "You would have me go, would you? And for what purpose, I wonder…?"

He considered for a moment; then, turning from the map, he spoke aloud.

"It seems I will be obliged to make a pilgrimage."

"Oh?" Hiromasa said inquiringly, dropping the corner of the chart which he had been slowly turning sideways, in a vain effort to better comprehend it. "For what purpose?"

"As something to do, at any rate," Seimei said, flashing his most enigmatic smile. "Affairs here have been intolerably dull of late, and I wouldn't mind breathing some of the holy air that surrounds Mount Hiei. Would you care to accompany me, Hiromasa?"

"With pleasure," the other returned, with his own characteristically obliging grin. "I may as well seek some diversion; I currently have no pressing duties to attend to in the capital."

"And no lady requesting your presence there?" Seimei suggested; his tone was innocent, but his expression was knowing and sly.

"Seimei," Hiromasa said, affecting an air of outraged dignity, "you have no right to treat my romantic misfortune with such relish."

"Yet it would seem that the arts are benefiting from your lovelorn condition." Seimei seized Hiromasa's sleeve – perhaps to prevent him from further fiddling with the edge of the _fusui _scroll – and held his hand up to the light. "The state of your fingertips says that you have been playing the _koto_ much of late."

Hiromasa flushed, but managed to look earnest in his humiliation. "I have merely been practising," he protested.

Seimei grinned; the expression augmented his vaulting cheekbones to best effect, making his pale, slender face resemble that of a fox. "Hiromasa is very talented."

"Hiromasa is very talented," echoed another voice at the nobleman's elbow, making him jump.

It was Mitsumushi, Seimei's loyal maidservant. She had appeared suddenly beside him, without so much as a footstep nor a flutter of cloth to foretell her approach. _Not even a wing-beat…_

"Seimei," she said, obediently turning to her master for instructions.

Seimei smiled benevolently. "I can make the necessary preparations myself, Mitsumushi. Please rest, your health is still delicate."

Mitsumushi deferentially bowed her head, though she perhaps looked a little more pleased than usual. Then her dainty form wavered like smoke, dissipating before Hiromasa's eyes.

"What is wrong with Mitsumushi?" Hiromasa asked, in alarm. He regarded the phantasmic maid with some affection, for she had been an indispensable aid to himself and Seimei in the past, proving herself to be loyal and courageous. He assumed that Seimei felt very much the same way; he had never since seen his friend as angry as he had been when Doson's sword had seemingly sliced the hapless butterfly in two. Though he had calmly continued casting the spell which would eventually defeat his murderous opponent, it had been clear to see that, beneath the surface, he had been seething with silent rage.

However, Seimei's manner now seemed unsuitably nonchalant. "She is convalescing," he said, as though he were merely remarking upon the weather. "The natural lifespan of a butterfly is short compared to that of a human. To remain by my side for so long, Mitsumushi must take extra care, and go through several transformations, each of which greatly prolongs her life."

"I-I see," Hiromasa said, though he was slightly taken aback by this. He was quite aware of Mitsumushi's true nature; but still, he often forgot that she was the mere spirit of an insect, not an actual human girl. "Well, I am sorry to hear that she is so indisposed."

"Hiromasa is a good man," piped up a familiar voice, making him start again.

He recognized it as Mitsumushi's, but now it sounded strangely small and constricted.

"Where is she?" he asked Seimei, who was politely pretending that he was not on the verge of breaking into laughter.

"She is here, resting, as I told her to."

"Here?" Hiromasa repeated, looking about him uncertainly.

"Yes, here. Right beside me." As Hiromasa scanned the floor for some glimpse of a butterfly's wing, Seimei relented, and added: "You shall have to look a bit closer. She is very close beside me; or, to be more accurate, upon my person. Inside my clothes."

Hiromasa, eying Seimei's attire anxiously, flushed as crimson as the maples he had been admiring but a short time ago.

"Seimei-!" he said, in scandalized tones. As a devoted adherent to court etiquette, such suggestions of intimacy embarrassed him greatly.

Seimei chuckled heartily, and lifted the edge of his sleeve. Just within its opening, Hiromasa saw something that adhered to the inner lining of his robe; it was shaped like a tiny conch shell, but appeared to be made of some delicate green fibre, luminous as silk.

"She is resting in there," Seimei said, "and will do so until she is well enough to resume her duties. As such, she shall accompany us on our way; she will take up very little room in our carriage. Shall we prepare for our imminent departure? A pilgrimage can be an uncertain thing, and if this is to be a tiresome one, I should like to be done with it as quickly as possible."

"O-of course," Hiromasa agreed. "I think such an outing will be quite enjoyable. The weather is fine, and the mountainous scenery may prove inspirational." So saying, he set about checking that he carried his flute with him, so that he would be best prepared if an impromptu song were to well up in his soul.

Seimei had his own matters to attend to before he would be ready to leave; however, before turning his attention to them, he spared another glance at the map of Heian-kyo, and the tiny pin-prick upon it. He eyed it with curiosity plainly writ upon his sharp, fox-like features.

Far from being uncertain or trepidatious, his expression was one of barely-veiled eagerness. That tiny mark was, to his sensibilities, an impudent summons; a letter of challenge, daring him to respond.

It was the slightest of signs, and yet, to his bored and latent mind, it held so much promise.

Whether it portended good or ill, he was not yet sure.

* * *

_Edit: forgot to mention, 'fusui' is the Japanese name for 'feng sui', a Chinese art in which the practitioners attempt to live harmoniously with nature by reading the cosmic energy that surrounds local landforms. Even though feng sui is part of my native culture, I can't claim to understand it much better than Hiromasa does. In modern interpretations it mostly involves home decorating - hanging crystals on certain walls, placing a red ribbon in your relationship zone, and building indoor water-features - but it is traditionally used to determine a fortuitous site for a building, or, more commonly, a deceased relative's grave (since ancestors who were well-furnished in the afterlife were believed to reflect their favour back upon the living). _

_I'm not sure how prevalent fusui is in Japan, nor if it was known of there in the Heian era, but a lot of onmyodo practises are based on Chinese five-elements theory, so I figured Seimei may have been adept at it as well._


	3. Chapter 2: Rutted Road

**Chapter Two – Rutted Road**

_'Journey where you will,  
the way is never easy  
Tread the road with grace_

_Fate and footpath both conspire  
to trip careless travellers.'_

* * *

"I think I may have discerned the object of our pilgrimage," Hiromasa said.

"Oh?" Seimei answered politely, from behind his fan. Every so often, he gave it a rapid flutter; in the close confines of the carriage, Hiromasa could feel the stream of cold air that it generated, and the chill was distinctly unpleasant. However, he didn't dare protest; this was Seimei's coach, and it would be ill-mannered of him to so criticize his host.

"Yes," he said in answer to Seimei's query, his confidence becoming even more apparent.

Above the edge of his fan, Seimei raised a single eyebrow in sarcastic eloquence. "You are yourself accomplished at divination, then?"

"N-no," Hiromasa replied hastily; such feats of foresight were well beyond him, a fact which they were both well aware of. "That is most definitely your province. However, after some thorough consideration, I think I have struck upon a likely answer…"

"Well, pray tell."

Hiromasa leaned forward, either in enthusiasm, or in order to be heard over the rattle of the carriage. The dull thud of the ox's hooves could be heard as it hauled them up the gentle incline, taking them further and further into the hills.

"It occurred to me that an acquaintance of mine lives in this area. He, too, is a musician like myself; however, whereas my own modest ability only extends so far as wind instruments, he is highly accomplished at all manner of strings, from the _koto_ to the _biwa_, and reputedly even the _kudaragoto_." He paused, in order to heave a much-aggrieved sigh. "I have tried to become familiar with him, so that we might hold discussions and share our knowledge – in particular, I wish to learn what he knows of the obscure tunes from the Semimaru region, since my own understanding of them is so dreadfully incomplete – but he must consider me to be very much his inferior, for he has snubbed me every time we have met, and refused every opportunity to talk as friends."

He gave another great sigh; his expression was morose and self-pitying. Seimei smiled, then quickly hid his grin behind his fan. Poor Hiromasa was so naive, he would never suspect that the other musician might be intimidated by his own talent and regard him as a rival.

"Still," Hiromasa went on, "I was sympathetic when I heard that the gentleman is indisposed and unable to attend court at present. Rumour has it that his favourite instrument has been broken, and he is so stricken by its loss that both he and his wife have gone into mourning."

"And you believe that we have been sent by the fates to remedy his sadness?" Seimei inquired, somewhat incredulously.

"You do not think so?" Hiromasa asked, his self-confidence plummeting swiftly.

Seimei closed his fan with a snap. "Why should the divine symbols send us on such a frivolous errand?"

"Matters of musicianship are hardly frivolous," Hiromasa retorted, becoming rather defensive, for the subject was one to which he was very much devoted. Then he checked his own brusqueness and added, in a more appealing tone, "nor are the matters of a man's heart."

Seimei shook his head, though he adopted a more agreeable manner for his friend's sake.

"Even less likely. A man's heart is the most difficult thing in all the world to change. The divine powers would know better than to send us for such a thing; even their influence would be impotent in the face of such discord. Even if a man's heart is at fault, no friend of his, however well-meaning, should ever dream of interfering with it; nothing could be more futile. Only the sufferer himself can change the condition of his own heart. Anyone who dares try to meddle in such affairs would only do more ill than good."

With that he fell silent and reopened his fan, fluttering it lazily, for no apparent reason other than to scatter sunbeams. Hiromasa made no attempt to reply. At his core, he knew that his friend was right; but on another level, he thoroughly disagreed.

_What man would not make some effort to change the heart of another, if he saw that one suffering for it?_

As he thought this, his resolve upon the matter only became stronger. However, it would be disagreeable of him to further argue with his friend; and so, he kept his opinion to himself.

As though to fill the uneventful silence that had fallen between them, the road suddenly became riddled with potholes, making the carriage buck and jolt beneath them. Hiromasa gritted his teeth as they were dragged over a series of particularly jarring bumps; by contrast, Seimei did not react in the slightest, barely seeming to even notice, with not so much as his sleeve rumpled by the vehicle's incessant shuddering. Hiromasa, noticing this and envying his friend's imperturbable nature, sought to distract himself from the rough ride by looking out the window, watching the sliver of idyllic countryside that he could see through a gap in the carriage's blinds.

Mid-afternoon had come before they had been ready to take their leave of the capital. The atmosphere among the hills was clear and invigorating. Every so often, small puffs of mountain breeze wafted through the blinds, carrying on it the clean scents of oak and sweet pine. The narrow road that they took wound its way round the base of Mount Hiei. The peak itself stood in the path of the sun, which was just starting to make its descent. The glow of its celestial rays glimmered upon the crimson branches that blanketed the slope, emblazoning it with a rose-tinted aureole and making the entire mountain look like a giant bonfire, its flames leaping high into the amber-tinged sky. This breath-taking vision, combined with the smell of distant charcoal fires and the crackle of rustling foliage, made Hiromasa imagine that the entire world – mountain, sun, sky and all – was being slowly burned to ash, engulfed in a final blaze of shimmering glory.

It was an idea that stirred his soul even more than the thought of winter's bleak repose, which doused the world in snow and only served to inspire his pity. It even impressed him more than the coquettish first signs of spring, or the wanton opulence of high summer. Autumn was a season for artists and poets – and musicians as well, so it seemed. It roused a sense of anguish in him which he could not attribute to any particular cause, save for the withering plight of the trees. Watching the leaves sicken and fall made it feel like a season of transience – a season of endings, though just what it was which seemed to have reached its end, he could not say.

_The world is transient. When everything reaches its appointed time, it dies, passing into phantasm._

As his mind, prompted by the ethereal vista, strayed into philosophical grounds, Hiromasa recalled his friend's words from the past. He cast Seimei a sidelong glance. His companion was watching the passing woods with an indolent air; his expression was half-hidden by his fan, but his eyes looked bored and diffident.

Hiromasa found himself wondering, as he so often did, at the true nature of his friend. Hiromasa considered himself a man of culture, and usually sought a similar cultivation in the acquaintances he made. (In the case of those dull acquaintances who sought him, and whom he was unable to refuse due to their superior rank, he was forced to be more tolerant.) So he wondered, not for the first time, what it was that continued to draw him to this prosaic, obtuse, somewhat arrogant, often infuriating young _onmyoji_. Hiromasa was not the type of man who aligned himself with powerful allies; he had no political ambitions, and had never so much as entertained the idea of using Seimei's _shikigami_, nor the myriad other spells he commanded, for his own personal gains. It was true that Seimei, taken on his own, was an intriguing figure; however, his ability to be intrigued himself seemed to be rather limited. Hiromasa wondered how he could look upon the rippling red glow of the maple-strewn hill, its ragged silhouette standing out starkly against a burnish sky, and not give any outward sign of having been moved by the sight, as he himself was.

Beside him, Seimei's fan fluttered inward; there was a gentle intake of breath, as though he were softly yawning.

Hiromasa sighed wryly to himself. If it weren't for the man's proficiency at magic and his propensity for drink, Seimei would be an absolute bore. It was admittedly difficult to imagine him, as he was now, as any less of a bore; the instances in the past when they had fought together against demons, and delivered the capital from sure disaster, had been as far from tedious as one could get. Still, in the time that Hiromasa had known him, his friend had revealed few interests outside of his work. To the young nobleman, who beside his official duties was accustomed to a life of leisure and learning, it seemed practically inhumane to lead a life without any such distractions. Seimei, with his disregard for social conventions, love of solitude, and lack of recreational pursuits, was certainly an odd creature…

_…creature…_

Hiromasa recalled those early rumours he had heard regarding Seimei, of his supposed fox-parentage. He wondered if that was why Seimei had such apathy toward majestic mountain views; where a man saw a scene akin to an expertly-wrought ink painting, an animal only saw environs where a safe den might be found. It was all Hiromasa could do to keep from laughing outright at the idea of Seimei, his tall hat knocked askew and his white sleeves trailing in the dirt, emerging from a hole in the hillside like a wary, wide-eyed fox.

He was chuckling inwardly at his companion's expense, and wondering if Seimei might also see the humour in such ridiculous musings, when the carriage gave a violent lurch.

It happened too suddenly and unexpectedly for Hiromasa to brace himself; he might have been thrown through the blinds and right out of the vehicle, if not for Seimei, who, either through quick reflexes, or perhaps some mystic precognition, had managed to seize him by the back of his robes just in time, keeping him in his seat.

"W-what is the matter?!" Hiromasa gasped, nonplussed to have been so rudely shaken out of his reverie.

"A bump in the road, I should think," Seimei replied, with unflappable equanimity.

* * *

As it turned out, it was quite the opposite: it was a rut in the road. When they disembarked to take stock of the situation, they found that the left wheel of the carriage – the one that Hiromasa had been seated above – was sunk up to its axel in a deep dip which lay right in the centre of the road. Seimei, hiking his sleeves up to keep them out of the dirt, stooped and examined it more closely.

"A shaft is broken," he said, straightening again and dusting off the spotlessly-white hem of his _hitatare_. "It shall have to be repaired before we can proceed."

Hiromasa, meanwhile, was gazing all about him, as though he were searching for something.

"Where has the ox gone?" he asked, craning his neck about in an effort to see further up the road. "Did it break free and run on without us? Which direction do you think it-"

"You needn't look so far afield," Seimei answered with a chuckle; he bent down again, this time to pick up something white which lay upon the ground, just between the two shafts of the carriage. Looking at what he held, Hiromasa realized that it was a piece of origami. Two points of paper had been cleverly folded to form a pair of legs; the bulky shape was topped by a flat, squarish head, from which a pair of broad white horns, their tips folded up at the ends, clearly protruded. There was no mistaking it; it was-

"… the ox?" Hiromasa exclaimed, in amazement. "It was a shikigami?!"

"Indeed." Seimei gave the wad of paper a pitying look. "The poor fellow realized his mistake and quit his earthly form, fearing my ire. He won't come back immediately; not until he recovers his nerve and believes my anger to have cooled, though in truth I am not at all cross. Well, I shall summon him back in good time, and once I have chastised him, I will have to reassure him." So saying, he tucked the effigy into his robe.

"Well, it's a fine mess he's left us in," Hiromasa grumbled. Though he had willingly agreed to come on this pilgrimage, it was swiftly losing its appeal. "I thought that your carriage would be immune to such accidents."

Seimei shrugged. "Contrary to what you may think, I am not infallible, and not everything I own has been magicked. Such a thing could happen to anyone. The road is very badly worn; I fancy that as well as the usual pilgrims, many maple-viewing parties have passed this way. Given the state of the ground, it was near inevitable." When Hiromasa didn't seem much placated by this, he added, as consolation, "At least it happened practically upon the doorstep of this estate. We can ask permission to rest at the house until we are able to continue."

He pointed with the edge of his closed fan; Hiromasa looked in the direction he had indicated.

Indeed, they were directly in front of the walls of a country estate. Hiromasa was heartened to see that the whitewash on the walls looked fresh, the roof tiles looked to be free from signs of decay, and within some distant courtyard the neatly-pruned branches of some well-tended trees wafted in the clean autumn air. This place looked civilized at least; if he was to be stranded in the outlying doldrums of the capital, he far preferred to pass the time in a place of comfort and refinement, rather than some ramshackle rural hut which might be overrun by _oni_ or thieves. In fact, he thought smugly to himself, the place looked better inhabited than Seimei's own abode – not that such a standard was by any means difficult to achieve.

Aloud, he only said: "Well, if we must." As they trudged towards the gates of the main house, he managed to brighten a little. "Perhaps this is the home of my fellow musician!" he added, with sunny optimism.

"Hmm. Perhaps."

This utterance was all the agreement that Seimei was willing to concede, as he raised his fan and used it to rap sharply upon the heavy wooden door.

* * *

_Author's note: I've been reading an online translation of the Onmyouji manga recently, and I realized that I made a mistake. I had Seimei and Hiromasa travel to the north-east of Heiankyo, not realizing that Seimei *lives* north-east of the capital. Ah well; technically, I think Seimei's house was still within the enclosure of the Imperial Palace. I don't even know what *was* north-east of the city - if anyone lived there, if it was all temples, if there are any maple trees on Mount Hiei. Just as well it's more of a fantasy setting than anything historical!_

_Also, all you Mononoke fans wondering where the medicine seller is - all in good time ; )_


End file.
